


Christmas Magic

by coveredbyroses



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-02 18:44:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17269049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coveredbyroses/pseuds/coveredbyroses
Summary: Christmas really isn’t your thing…





	Christmas Magic

Christmas isn’t your thing. Never was. Not really. Where others saw the joy and magic of the holiday spirit, you saw the stress and anxiety of the shopping, the decorating…of the  _socializing_.

You’re sitting in the bunker’s library, feet propped up on the old oak table as you reflect on your heavy distaste for the holidays. Just ahead, Sam and Dean are putting the finishing touches on the Christmas tree that sits between two pillars. 

It had been Dean’s idea, of course. Always the sucker for sentiment, even under that hunter-thickened exterior. It was sweet, you had to admit, a true testament to his golden heart.

And, in pure Sam fashion, the younger Winchester had bristled, fought against the notion of Christmas cheer - it was something the two of you had quickly bonded over in the few years you’d known him - two surly hunters comfortably content with skipping out on the grossly normal holiday.

It’s no surprise that Dean had won. While he may not have mastered Sam’s expert doe eyes, you were still putty underneath the elder hunter’s sparkling greens - and Sam was just as vulnerable, even after all this time.

So, here you are, chewing at the corner of your mouth as Sam maneuvers the extravagant star atop the seven foot tree.

“We done?” Sam asks, easing off the step stool.

Dean’s backed away already, arms folded over his chest as he surveys. You can only see his profile, but you don’t miss the unmistakable curl of a smile tugging at his plump lips.

“Perfect,” he rumbles. “Hey, babe,” he says, jerking his head toward the library’s entrance. “Kill the lights?”

With a heavy sigh, you push back in your chair, grumbling to yourself as your boots thump across the hardwood floor. You’ve been dating for six months now and he’s  _still_ ordering you around like a freaking trainee.

You deftly flip the switch…

And a gasp floats past your lips before you can stop it.

The room glows with twinkling white lights coiled around the large pillars and strung in swooping arches along the ceiling. The tree is nothing less than breathtaking, with its golden ornaments and sparkling tinsel.

It looks…magical.

“Eh?” Dean says, twirling between the two of you, arms spread.

“It looks like Christmas puked in here-”

“It’s  _beautiful_ …”

Sam quips at the exact same time you breathe out your wonderment. Dean doesn’t even try to hide his beaming grin.

“You two enjoy,” Sam mumbles after a beat. “I’m gonna go pick the pine needles outta my hair.”

You giggle into your fist as the towering hunter turns to march out of the room, leaving you and Dean alone in the ethereal glow of the library.

You’re walking toward him now, molding yourself into his side as the two of you gaze at the tree.

“S’real nice,” you mutter, nestle your head against his warm chest as his burly arm fits itself around your waist. He smells good, smells like home.

“Did I convert you?” he asks, the deep boom of his voice vibrating against your cheek.

“No. I’m still not into Christmas - nice try though.” You’re smiling into his flannel. “I like this though…and I like you. Kinda.”

He dips his head, lips warm at your scalp. “Ditto,” he says, smile audible in his voice. “Kinda.”

“Okay,” you mumble, pulling away. “I’m woman enough to admit that I felt a little magic…but I’m going to bed now.”

“Wait-” His arm is still hooked around you, but his head is tilted back, unblinking eyes cast to the high ceiling.

“What-”

And then you see it: the mistletoe dangling directly overhead.

“Really, dude?”

“Mmm.” His lips are tight in a mischievous smile.

You turn in his arms until your front is flush with his, arms draped around his neck. “This is grossly cliché, ya know.”

“Hey,” he says, the space between his eyebrows denting in feigned hurt. “I don’t make the rules.”

You roll your eyes dramatically just before he ducks into a kiss that lasts for the next several minutes.

Okay. So maybe Christmas is kinda… _maybe_ …your thing now.


End file.
